


Untitled

by wallpatterns



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 07:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15944516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallpatterns/pseuds/wallpatterns





	1. Cat in the Cradle

I always have a full hand. The other players, most of them tall, sickly looking men with hollows for features, look over their cards at me. Their skeletal hands, dusted with constellations of brown liver spots, tap against the pool table in morse code, collapsed cheeks twitching every time they flick past an interesting card, eyebrows rising when they catch me staring. They know I'm a cheater. I learned my slight of hand from my father and they respected him, but he's dead now and dead men can't talk my way out. Winning cards can.

"Greary's been havin' a tough time lately. He's got his forces up in rears over a reaper sightin' south of Worton. Bastard doesn't know what to do with his lot in life. If I was president I'dda said to hell with it all. People need to learn how to save themselves," Grady says, his overweight face rolling with each raspy breath he takes. He's been game organizer for years. Beats me why he still plays. He's made a fortune off playing and it shows in the rolls of skin that swing like pendulums whenever he opens his mouth.

"Come off it, Grady. You know if a reaper came in here, you wouldn't be able to do nothin' but drown your face with another shot of cheap whiskey. Call." I say, stacking my chips in a neat row.

Another player, Reid, raises my bet and cracks his back. "And you know if we came in here ready to have your hide, you skiving 'lil snake, you'd be dead faster than your daddy was, Sweetie."

"Oh, I know, Reid," I say, exchanging a card in my sleeve underneath the table and swallowing down a burst of red, hot anger, "But at least I can say I didn't waste my time talking about politics I barely know anything about."

Grady takes a swig of whiskey, the bottle clanking against his ring as he sets it down, a long trail of the brown juice sliding down the side of the bottle as he leans towards me with a leer, his sickly sweet breath fanning across my cheek. "You talk a lot of shit for a kid," he says. "Your daddy shoulda took you with 'em when he went. Woulda knocked out two birds with one stone, eh, Reid?"

Reid switches two of his cards around and I assume he's got a pocket pair, his skeletal fingers combing through them like treasure. "I don't know, Grady. I kinda like this debt thing we have goin' for us. The kid keeps adding on interest. She's gotta pay us sooner or later."

Grady sits back with a triumphant sneer, "Soon," he says. "It's gonna be soon. You folding yet, Girlie?"

I lean in eagerly. "Actually, I'm all in."

Reid's face darkens as he throws his cards down and knocks the chips onto the floor. "You gonna call her out or am I?"

Grady raises his eyebrow. "You calling again?"

"What?" he asks. "No. That wasn't just a bad beat. She cheated. I ain't playin' another hand until you throw her out. I don't care if she's adding on interest if she's paying me back with my own money. I want her kicked out and I want my cash now." Reid turns to me, his hand shaking as his finger points at me. "You hear that, Eliza? You've got 'til midnight tonight to pay me. Grady's right. You set foot in here one more time before then and I'll kill you myself. You ain't stealin' from me again."

"You're kiddin' me, right? Can't we just talk about this?" I ask, standing up hesitantly. Desperation claws its way up my throat and sinks its teeth into my tongue. "I'll do anything."

Grady points menacingly above me at the men on the stairs, their guns cocked at my head. "Tonight," he says. "You're payin' for your life or with it. You got the choice."

I pause, my gaze swinging between Grady, the guns, and Reid, before falling short on the door. "Okay," I say, swallowing. "Okay. You'll have it tonight, I swear."

The wooden door chimes as I pass through, cold air ghosting its frigid fingers across my face as I follow the street lights in the cobbled streets, careful not to stray too far in the shadows. The speakers, posted on every corner, crackle to life. "Attention citizens," it says, "Five minutes to curfew. I repeat: five minutes to curfew." A shiver ripples through the few remaining stragglers, fear of staying too late in the dark and what one might find there present in the quickened paces of the moving bodies. We all know monsters are real, and once they find you, so does death.

The wind caresses my cheek as I turn down my block, the lights in my kitchen acting as beacons to guide me back home. "Three minutes," the speaker cackles. "Three minutes until curfew. All citizens on guard. Three minutes until curfew." Quickening my pace, I dive into my messenger bag and dig out my keys, my hands shaking in the cold as I unlock my door and make my way inside, the peeling beige wallpaper the only one to greet me. Walking into the living room, I flip on lights and stop, my heart hammering in my chest as I see a figure standing in the middle of the room, her dark hair floating in an absent wind.

Her face is a mask of angles; a play on perspective in the form of smooth, olive colored skin. The sleeves of her white gown twist and turn with her movements, following her as she walks towards me, a smile painted on her dark lips. "Hello," she breathes and my heart beats faster. "My name is Ker." Her hand finds its way to my chest, her five small nails tapping along with the beat of my heart. "And I need to ask you something."

I back away slowly, my hand grasping behind me for something to throw before her frail hands wrap around my wrists. "Sweetheart, " she rasps, cradling my cheek in her smooth palm. "You know you don't have enough money. You're running out of time."

I can't stop myself from nodding.

"Let me help you," she whispers. "Let me be yours. I'm not going to hurt you."

Her voice slithers into our surroundings, snaking up my hips and sliding through my head like butter. I want to believe her. I really do. "If you get me what's mine, " she whispers, her ringed fingers running through my auburn hair with affection, "I'll give you what's yours." Her lips part and press against my ears and I can feel her breathing. "But it's up to you, love. Do you want to see me happy?"

I nod and let out a shaky breath. "Yes."

She breathes out a laugh and I can feel her mouth move against my neck as she gradually makes her way down, leaving a constellation of wet kisses to stain my skin with. "You're my favorite," she whispers. "You're my favorite this week."

I let out a pained squeak as she pulls away, tugging my arm into a rough handshake. Her face, seconds before a smooth portrait, now cracks down the center, thousands of fractures erupting into small, web-like chasms. Small red blots race out of the openings and I let out a gag when I realize they're ants, racing down the length of her once beautiful face and traveling all the way across our connected arms, digging their abdomens into all of my openings; the small cuts surrounding my fingernails, gashes along my arm from where I scraped it last week, and last but not least, they sink their small bodies into my ears, eyes, and nose. Gasping in disgust, I cringe at the ones I unintentionally inhale, shaking my head to fight off the remainders before they enter me too. I bite my tongue. I can feel them crawling inside me. Shaking inside my skin. Burrowing.

"One week," she purrs, only his time I can hear the edge to her voice.

"Or what?" I rasp out, my teeth gritting against the ones who dove into my mouth late, shaking my head. "You'll kill me?"

"No, " she laughs. "I won't have to." She bends down and holds my face in her hands, squeezing my cheeks together before she gives me another peck on the lips. She tastes like cinnamon. "The good guys will."

With a snap of her fingers, she disappears, flames erupting from where she was standing minutes ago, heating up my face the way she did. I back up frantically, knocking a lamp off of my table as I fall sprawling across the ground, crawling backwards and watching as the room turns into a light show.

"You might want to get up now," a gravelly voice in my head says and I jolt up and search the room. "Like...now."

"Fuck," I gasp out, the flames reaching outwards from the floor to the walls; crawling recklessly around the ceiling like a child taking its first steps. Yeah, I think to myself, a really messed up child. "Get the fuck out of my head, Ker. Who are you? What do you want?"

Stumbling to my knees, I tumble wildly as the room spins, a kaleidoscope of grey the only thing I can make out in the smoke. I cough, my lungs filling with the smell of fire and my mouth choking on the taste of grit and ash.

"I'm not Ker, you fucking idiot. I'm her present to you. Do I sound like I have boobs?"

"To be fair," I snarl as I regain my footing and face the door, my heart sinking as I discover the flames have already beat me there. "You'd be surprised. I don't discriminate."

"Hardee har har, asshole," he says dryly. "Pick up the pace before you kill us both."

I stumble through the dark for my staircase, frantically crawling myself up one by one as I cough. I can still feel the ants. "Where the fuck are you?"

He laughs and I grip my head in agony. "Funny, funny, love," he intones. "How dense are you? I'm in your head. You can't expect to make a deal with the devil and not get any unintended side affects, now can you?"

Shaking, I wipe ash off my face as the stairs sway beneath me. My head spins. I have to be dreaming. "That...thing was the devil?"

He cackles inside my head, his laugh echoing against my cranium painfully. "'Course not. You're hideously slow. Ker's a Reaper. You should know this."

He's right. My town, Rosereed, previously known as Las Vegas, was one of the few remaining in the states since the outbreak of monsters. Growing up, all we hear are tales about the Resistance fighting off onslaughts of hideous creatures. Hell, I used to make believe I was a member when I was a kid. But still, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. It never feels real until it happens to you. I should've known.

"Hey, you fucking idiot," he screams. "Remember the burning house?"

Leaping to my feet, I lunge across the hallway at the top of the staircase, my arms grazing the walls for balance. For a second I pause, the flames behind me almost looking like someone's shadow, before the voice screams at me to go faster. Smoke. It was probably just smoke. Flinging open the window at the end of the walkway, I stop, edging my way onto the ledge carefully. Behind me, the flames are growing closer. I can almost hear them calling my name. 

"Eliza," the voice sings nervously. "You know what to do now, right?"

"I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I'm waiting for the firefighters to find me...you know...like a normal person trapped in a house that's on fire?"

"You're kiddin' me, right? Eliza. You're crazy. Take a look around! It's past curfew. If anyone is coming for you, it's to get their money. Not save your life. You're gonna have to save yourself here, sweetheart."

I step forward hesitantly, my toes the only thing over the edge. The flames lick the beginning of the walkway now, a good seven feet behind me. Outside, I can feel the breeze. I can hear the trees sway. The crickets chirp. I would rather die here than out there.

"Hey, Mystery Voice?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me sweetheart."

Flames, air, dirt, and, surprisingly, the last thing I saw before I hit the ground: headlights.


	2. Thanks For Taking The Cake, Gothzilla

When I come to, it's because I can still feel the ants inside of me, writhing and twisting their bodies into shapes small enough to seek sanctuary in my bones. When the lids of my eyes break through the thin layer of crust sleep left, I blink blearily, snuggling back into the warmth nestled into my side with a yawn before jolting up with my heart in my throat. There was an arm around my shoulder, curving its way around my bones and making a home out of my body. With a silent whimper, I swallow down the acid pooling behind my tongue. I watch a lot of Dateline. Also, I live alone. I knew what people did to strangers.

My eyes trace the pale arm wrapped around me, the criss cross map of blue and purple veins leading to a girl, small breaths escaping her bow shaped lips in small puffs. She is Asian and pretty in a warm way, her chubby cheeks dotted with red spots and her hair splayed across the sheets in disarray. A small mewing sound escapes her lips as she nestles closer, hot air covering my skin as she sighs contentedly.

"Are we waking up now?" She asks and I jump, positive she was still sleeping. The girl laughs melodically, her nose crinkling as she opens her eyes to reveal a dark shade of brown. Her eyes, unblinking and protruding from her plump face, are nice in a vacant sort of way, as though she is seeing more than she lets on without seeing anything at all. When she moves, her clothes, a pink sun dress, twist against her as she snuggles even further into the pillow, and subsequently, me.

"Uh..." I stutter, my cheeks heating up. "Could you..." I gesture with my free hand to the small space between us and she nods enthusiastically.

"Of course!" She says, her voice like warm honey. "I'd love to. You don't even have to ask, Clover!" To my dismay and utter bewilderment, she scoots closer to me, replacing whatever small reprieve from her body heat I had with, well, her body. My ears perk up at the name "Clover."

"I think you made a mistake. My name's not Clover," I say, struggling to sit up and pry her limbs from around me. For such a soft looking girl, she is stronger than she seems, and I have to remind myself that she's built larger than I am. I wonder if, like me, she is constantly underestimated, but I push that thought away as soon as it comes. She kidnapped you, Eliza, I remind myself. She isn't your friend.

"Well, if you keep thinking like that, she won't be, love," the voice titters from inside my head again. I curse silently. I was hoping Sass Overlord was a dream.

The girl smiles widely. "Of course I'm your friend!" she all but shrieks. "I don't sleep with just anyone, Clover." She pulls away from me now, her eyelashes like the thread of a novel and fluttering like loose leaf pages as she looks between them at me. "I thought it was a cute pet name," she shrugs. "You didn't exactly have an ID on you. I don't think you expected to be ran over last night." She cocks her head to the side, regarding me with childlike curiosity. She looks so sad, I think, like a lost puppy and I find myself missing the warmth of a stranger as she scoots backwards on the bed. "Besides!" She shrieks. "Clovers are lucky and you're our new luck charm!"

"Clover is fine," I grumble out. Something tells me my name shouldn't be handed out like candy. "But wait," I pale as a thought occurs to me. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

Of course I'm your friend, she had said. But I never told her that.

The girl huffs. "Of course you didn't tell me. You didn't have to. I'm the brewer!"

"The wha-" the words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but before I can finish a tan hand grips my shoulder harshly. I don't dare look behind me.

"Flip," a deep voice interrupts me sternly. "That's enough. She doesn't need to know what you are."

The girl, now called Flip, bites her bottom lip petulantly, like two halves of an orange peel curling and unfurling. "I told Clover," she says softly. "I'm the brewer."

The boy sighs. "We should've left her, she's not worth it. And stop calling her Clover," he adds as an afterthought. "I'm like 90% sure that's a weed."

Flip stares behind me at the man, her wide eyes unblinking as her pretty face twists into something not entirely her own. As if a switch was flipped inside her brain, she stands like a tower upon the bed, her cheeks ablaze with a fat finger pointing imploringly over my shoulder. "You guys didn't ask for her name before you ran her over. What else am I going to call her?"

"I don't know," he says with a snort, his grip squeezing my shoulder so tightly that I grimace, imaging the bruise I was going to find. "Road kill?"

"Wait a fuckin' minute," I realize a bit too late, "You ran me over?"

"Wow. Well, we certainly know how to pick the smart ones. I told you- she's not worth it." The deep baritone says and a low thrum of fire burns through my veins. I've been kicked around my whole life and the only thing I've learned is that if you don't kick back, you're already dead.

"The only worthless thing here is your brakes, apparently."

I imagine the man's face clenches and I wince as his grip on my shoulder tightens before it dissipates. "Watch the weed," he says to Flip. "I'll get my brother."

As he leaves, I catch a glimpse of his face. It's all sharp angles and frostbite, with hooded dark eyes. I catch myself staring at his all black clothing and snort to myself. Of course he'd be a stereotypical bad boy. Of course.

Flip catches me staring and smiles toothily.

"Is he always that bad?" I ask.

The corners of her mouth turn down. "Lately," she says. Flip opens her mouth to continue, but before she can, we are interrupted by the door opening with a large bang.

The boy who enters is not the same gothzilla as before. In fact, if it wasn't for the other boy referring to him as his brother, I wouldn't think they were related. Whereas he was all "I am darkness, fear me" the boy who enters is the polar opposite.

Golden hair curls around his face like a halo. He's taller than the other boy and built more like a runner. When he smiles, it looks tired. How many, I ask myself, how many people are here? How outnumbered am I?

"Who are you people?" I say before I can stop myself.

"They call us Scavengers."

"Why?"

"Because," He says. "We only take what we need."


End file.
